Chapter Nine

S affron backed away from Leo, hitting a chair in the process and nearly tumbling over. She wanted to tell him about Basil and the painting, but every time she tried to get the words out, they wouldn't come. If he knew the truth, would he still agree to help her? Or would he, like Aunt Rosemary, insist that she was wrong, and Basil was dead?

She couldn't take the chance. Not when Angelica's future was at risk.

"So quiet, suddenly," Leo said, closing the space between them with frightening speed. "That's okay. I have my own ways of getting information I want."

He wrapped his arms around her. "Stop thinking," he breathed, touching his nose to hers. "I can see the fight in you. Just give in and do what feels right." He tilted his face and met her lips with his in a gentle kiss. It lasted only a moment before he pulled away, then kissed her again.

"Take what you want," he said, brushing his palm over her breast. "Take it."

She sank into Leo's deepening kisses, opening her mouth to him. He murmured his enjoyment into her lips, but it wasn't enough. She needed to feel more of him, needed his hands on her skin. She pulled at the strings behind her dress, but he stopped her. Then his face came down on her neck and his tongue swirled in the whorl of her throat, making her gasp.

"So lovely," he said. He tucked his hand beneath her bodice and fondled her breast, tucking his fingers under her corset and tweaking her nipple with his fingers. Then he moved his attention from her neck to her earlobe, taking it into his mouth and sucking gently.

She bumped into his desk and fell onto it. The desk screeched as it slid under the force of her weight. His hand crept beneath the many layers of her gown and underthings, rubbing small circles on her bare flesh. He ripped her stockings free from their garters in one swift tug. Then he trailed his palms along the inside of her thighs, up and down.

"Leo, please." She didn't know what she was asking for, but her pelvis throbbed, and she ached with the need for his touch.

A guttural growl and his mouth was on hers again. Then he slid one finger inside her sheath, rubbing in a way that made her back arch like a cat. Pleasure ebbed and flowed, building up to a crescendo, then slipping out of her grasp.

"That's it," he coaxed, moving his fingers faster while kneading her breast. "Come apart for me."

The rising tide rolled over her and a piercing, delicious sensation rippled out from where his hands touched her. The waves of pleasure radiated all the way to the tips of her ears and her toes, leaving her panting.

"God, Saffron," he said, smoothing her clothing back into place. "You do not know how much I want you." He took a shuddering breath, then stepped away.

Her eyes fell to the prominent bulge tenting his trousers. She was not innocent. Three years spent pinching her pennies, seeking any deal with the butcher, grocer, and others in less-than-savory areas of town to prolong her funds, had opened her eyes. She'd seen men taking women against tavern walls, moaning and thrashing. Her torrid romance novels had described the act in detail and had kept her awake at night imagining what it might feel like to be with a man.

She'd had no idea.

But despite how pleasurable it had been, she couldn't push aside how scandalous her actions were.

"I… cannot do this," she said, edging her way to the door. "We are not wed."

She was not opposed to the idea of marriage if it meant saving Angelica from marriage to Canterbury. It was clear they were compatible on some level, and it would allow her to support her family. Even if he remained a recluse, she didn't mind living outside of London.

Then Leo scowled. "I am not the marrying kind."

His words stung more than she'd expected, but she forced her emotions aside. "You do not wish to produce an heir?"

He snorted. "I never wanted to be Viscount Briarwood to begin with. Besides…" He stepped closer and smirked. "We do not need to be married to enjoy each other's company."

She gave a startled sound and fled his office as if he'd thrown a bucket of cold water over her head, then flew through the halls of the house. She'd never been so close to a man who wasn't a blood relative. A man who looked at her like a woman and not a piece of furniture, or an extension of her sister or aunt, and he was not interested in marriage.

At least she'd finally experienced what her romance novels described.

Her skin still burned from where he'd touched, and her body thrummed with pleasure.

No wonder the ladies swoon before him.

She flushed at the memory of their bodies intertwined on top of his desk. Despite knowing she had truly ruined herself, she couldn't bring herself to care. Leo had brought her something she hadn't even known she'd wanted.

"It will be fine," she said, pausing in front of a suit of armor to fix her torn stockings. The deal they had struck complicated her plans, but not irrevocably. She had already come to play the detective.

The only difference is that I am searching for both a thief and a painter.

No matter what she'd promised, it was in her best interest to continue her investigation alongside what he had tasked her to do. Thanks to Leo, she had a list of attendees to analyze and interrogate.

First of the Ravenmore suspects on her list was Simon Mayweather, Leo's cousin. She could imagine the charismatic man taking up his time painting. He had the casual, artistic air of a man who kept secrets.

Second was the Lady Olivia Allen, the beautiful widow of the late Earl of Allen. Saffron had never met the woman, but rumor held she was a collector of artwork. She also had a reputation for being mysterious and coy. Leo had suggested at Lady Jarvis's ball that women were not generally accepted as painters by the Royal Society of Arts. Could Lady Allen have chosen the alias Ravenmore to tweak the noses of the upper elite?

Third and fourth were Mr. and Mrs. Morgan. She'd learned through talking to the housekeeper that both were late additions to the event. One or both could be Ravenmore. She did not know enough about them to judge if that was likely.

Then there was Leo himself. As much as she didn't want to believe that he would keep such a secret from her, it was Leo who had put her on to the idea that Ravenmore was an alias. She would not remove him from consideration until she was certain he was not the painter.

There remained a chance that the artist was someone else attending the auction, but she would not consider them without cause until she had ruled out the others.

She slowed her steps as she approached the front entrance, comporting herself into the genteel lady she had to project to the world. Her head tilted higher, and she schooled her expression into one of mild interest. The act was tiring to keep up, but she had learned over the years that she could not show her real self without facing derision. She checked her coiffure in the reflection of an ancient Roman shield mounted on the wall, tucking a few curls back into place. Then she scowled at herself. Whom was she trying to impress?

"I know what I am doing," she said to her reflection.

A footman standing by the door smothered a laugh. She hurried past him before she embarrassed herself further and arrived in the entryway to find Mrs. Banting arguing with Leo's butler, Sinclair.

"It is not proper," the housekeeper insisted. "The ladies with maids cannot stay in the rooms in the east wing. I will not be responsible for any more injuries on that staircase. We will have to move the paintings."

Paintings?

Sinclair shook his head. "Let's not forget the gentlemen and their valets. Would you subject them to that staircase instead? My lord was quite clear on this matter. We are not to touch the items for the auction."

Like a bloodhound scenting a trail, Saffron leaped into the conversation. "May I be of assistance?"

Mrs. Banting pursed her lips. "Madam, this matter is not your concern. We will find a solution."

The two servants turned toward each other, closing her out.

She cleared her throat. "I have never met a maid who would avoid a simple staircase."

That did the trick.

Both servants gaped at her for a moment, then stories poured out of them both. Tales that chilled her blood.

"We've had three scullery maids quit this month," the housekeeper said. "They can't avoid it, madam, as it's right by the kitchen. There is no other staircase in the east wing."

Sinclair elbowed her aside. "The footmen refuse to use it. They go around to the other side of the estate, which takes twice as long."

Saffron held up a hand, silencing them as she recalled the floor plan that she'd found in Leo's office that morning. The estate was a three-pronged building with a set of servants' stairs in each wing. The kitchen was in the east wing on the main floor. Most of the guest rooms were in that wing, including her own room. From what she'd overheard, the paintings were somewhere in the east wing. That was a useful piece of information.

"What about the rooms in the west wing?" She remembered the small writing on the sheet of paper. Those rooms were reserved for use by the viscountess, but given that the viscount was unmarried, she did not think they were being used.

Mrs. Banting blanched. "We have not yet cleaned those rooms. They've remained closed since…" She shot the butler an anxious look.

"Quite," Sinclair said. "The viscountess's rooms will not do."

Their nervous reactions made her curious, but Sinclair's tone brooked no argument, so she let the matter go and turned her mind to alternatives. She'd always had a fantastic memory, ever since she'd been a child. She collected and cataloged everything she saw, and if she was lucky, she found cause to use the information rather than let it clutter up her head.

If only such a skill were valued by the Ton.

"The rooms near the nursery in the north wing," she said. "That is the only other option."

Mrs. Banting fidgeted with the keys at her belt. "I suppose we could move the furniture around."

Before they could argue the point further, Saffron clapped her hands. "Excellent. Then Mr. and Mrs. Morgan can take the first bedroom, and…" She called out the remaining couples and unattached guests, working from her memory of the guest list she had found in Leo's office.

She was so preoccupied with sorting out the problem that she only barely registered the increasingly loud clattering coming from outside.

BOOM.

She jumped at the sound. A footman hurried from his post to pull the doors open as a bedraggled figure burst into the foyer, spraying water all over the freshly waxed floors.

"I thought we would never arrive," Angelica said, shaking the water from her hair.

Saffron rushed across the room to wrap her arms around her sister, forgetting her new gown until the cold pierced through the thick fabric.

Angelica squeezed her back. "I thought you had perished," she whispered.

"I would never leave you," Saffron replied. Then she grasped Angelica's shoulders and pushed her away, analyzing her with a critical eye. Although her skin was a shade too pale, and her clothes sodden, her eyes had none of the cloudiness she'd feared. In fact, even with her hair plastered all down her back and pins falling to the floor like a concord of music, Angelica was beautiful.

"Do not cause a scene, dear," Rosemary said, strolling into the foyer at a more sedate pace. Unlike her niece, she stood still while several servants plied her with towels.

"Just wait until you see the rooms," Saffron said, clutching Angelica's hands. "They are simply gorgeous."

Rosemary sniffed. "I would hope so."

Angelica lifted her foot and her muddy slipper made a sucking sound as it split from the tile floor. She grimaced. "Right now, I would settle for dry clothes and a warm bath. It feels as if we've been through Shakespeare's tempest."

"Of course," Saffron said. "I will see to it at once."

She looked around for Mrs. Banting, but finding her gone, she touched the sleeve of a passing maid. When the girl turned to her, eyes wide, Saffron gave her what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "Please arrange for my sister's and aunt's trunks to be taken up to the rooms next to mine."

"Yes, madam," the maid said.

"I didn't realize you were the mistress of the house already," Rosemary said. The servants had divested her of her outer clothing and were ushering them up the stairs.

"You know our Saffron." Angelica laughed. "If she weren't constantly helping someone, she might actually learn how to relax."